A Whisper in the Dark

by Linda Castillo

  Drugs. Horror spiraled inside her. “What did you give me?”

  “It’s just a little Demerol, Julia. In a few minutes I’m sure you’ll be thanking me.”

  She couldn’t believe the quiet young man who’d worked so diligently for her father for the last three years had transformed into the raving maniac kneeling over her.

  In the back of her mind, she thought about John. She wondered how much of her call he’d understood. At the very least, he knew she was in trouble. That the stalker had her.

  Would it be enough to save her life?

  “Who did you call?”

  The question jerked her back from the hazy world inside her own head. “I dialed 911,” she said. “The police are on their way.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “No—”

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” he shouted. “I know who you called! You called Merrick, didn’t you?”

  When Julia didn’t answer, he leaned close. So close she could smell his breath, hear his teeth grinding together. Lips peeled back in a snarl, he slapped her face with an open palm.

  The blow snapped her head back, brought tears to her eyes. “Didn’t you?” he demanded.

  Julia closed her eyes, determined not to let him see her cry. “He’s coming, Parker. Give this up. Please. He won’t let you get away with this.”

  “Yes, he’ll come for you, won’t he?” An odd light entered his eyes. “You see, Julia, I saw you with him in the shop that night. I saw both of you going at it like a couple of dogs in heat. You’re nothing but a lustful little whore.”

  “Stop it,” she said.

  “That night was a turning point for me. That was when I knew I had to stop you or your soul would be lost forever.”

  “You’re wrong about me,” she said breathlessly. “You’re wrong about John.”

  “Merrick is just a man. Weak and lustful.” He spat the words as if he were spitting spoiled meat. “But you . . . You came to me in my sleep. You seduced me. By the time I saw you for the monster you are, it was too late. I saw your real face. The things you did to me—” His voice broke. “You evil, evil bitch. Instrument of Satan. Succubus whore.”

  The hatred in his voice stunned her. How could he believe what he was saying about her? “Parker, please, listen to me. You’re wrong. You need help—”

  “I’m not crazy!” he shouted. “You raped me that night. You did vile things to me. You tried to steal the breath from my lungs.”

  “Parker, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “Yes, it does.” Roughly, he yanked her to her feet.

  Off balance, Julia stumbled and nearly went to her knees. His fingers dug into her shoulder as he shoved her toward the table.

  “Get on the table.”

  She blinked, focused on the table next to the altar. It was a wooden rectangular table covered with a white sheet. On a battered pulpit beside the table lay an array of items. A syringe. Vials of what she could only assume was holy water—or his version of it. An over-the-counter douche product. Enema bag. Oh, dear God, no . . .

  “Parker, please don’t do this.”

  He went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “I will first purify your body with holy water.”

  “No,” she croaked.

  “Only my seed will cleanse the impurities from inside your body. Your soul will be purified only when your blood runs red over the altar. You will be pure inside and out when you stand in judgment before God. You see, Julia, I have prepared a crypt just for you . . .”

  THIRTY

  A second NOPD cruiser arrived as John walked to his car. The collision with the gate had torn up the grille and dented the hood, but he didn’t think the radiator was breached. Not that he gave a damn about the car; he just hoped it started.

  Behind the wheel, he used his cell phone and dialed Wainwright’s number from memory. The old man picked up on the second ring.

  “Mr. Wainwright, it’s John Merrick.”

  A cool silence ensued. “What are you doing calling me at this hour?”

  John closed his eyes, wishing the other man weren’t out of town so he could tell him this face to face. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news, Mr. Wainwright.”

  A beat of tense silence followed. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Julia’s missing.”

  “What? That’s impossible. I talked to her earlier this evening and she was fine.”

  “I’m sorry, Benjamin, but she’s missing.”

  “That can’t be! I hired an armed private detective to look after her.”

  “The PI is dead,” John said.

  The old man made a strangled sound. “Holy mother of God. How did this happen? Who’s taken her?”

  “We think Parker Bradley is the stalker.”

  Wainwright made a sound as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “Parker? That simply isn’t true. He’s on his way here.” Heavy breathing came through the line as he paused. “Dear Lord, he should have been here an hour ago.”

  “Look, Benjamin, I need to ask you some questions.”

  “Anything.” A sob escaped the old man. “Oh, Julia. God . . .” The old man choked out the words. “I’ve got to get to New Orleans. If I leave now I can be there in an hour.”

  “Julia called me.” John looked at his watch. “About twenty minutes ago. She was in trouble. We were cut off but not before she said the word ‘Saint.’ I think she was trying to tell me where she’d been taken. Can you think of a place Parker would take her?”

  “The old church.”

  “What old church?”

  “Our Lady of St. Agnes. I was considering renovating it at one point. Parker lobbied heavily for me to buy. But the place has extensive water damage. It’s scheduled for demolition.”

  John’s heart began to hammer. He hit the gas and the car shot out of the driveway. “Where?”

  “Rampart near Bayou Road.” The old man choked back an anguished sound. “Go get her, John. Bring my girl back to me.”

  But John had already disconnected.

  Even with the fertile imagination of a writer, Julia could never have imagined herself in such a terrifying situation. She fought Parker with all of her strength as he forced her to the table. She twisted and lashed out with her feet, knocking several items from the pulpit. “Help me!” she screamed.

  “Shut up!” Lips peeled back in a snarl, he spun her around and shoved her to the floor.

  Julia hit the ground so hard the breath was knocked from her lungs. Straddling her, he grabbed duct tape from the pulpit shelf and tore off a piece with his teeth.

  “No!”

  Her scream was cut short when he slapped the tape over her mouth. Lowering his weight onto her stomach, he reached for the syringe.

  The sight of the syringe sent an electric shock of panic through her. She bucked beneath him, tried to twist away, but he was too heavy. An evil smile split his face as he thumbed off the cap.

  “This is what happens to sinning little bitches when they misbehave,” he said and jabbed the needle into her hip, right through her jeans.

  Her body bucked beneath him as the needle penetrated fabric and skin and muscle. The Demerol burned but Julia knew the pain of the injection was the least of her problems. She knew once he disabled her he was going to put her on that table and do unspeakable things to her.

  Before he killed her.

  The drug hit her brain like a locomotive moving in slow motion. One moment she was twisted and lashing out beneath him. The next it was as if her body had floated two feet off the floor. Her brain ordered her to keep fighting; she knew that was her only chance of surviving. But as the drug wound through her system, she felt her muscles go slack.

  “Ah, that’s better. Yes, that’s it. Relax.” Rising, Parker looked down at her. “You’re strong for your size.”

  Julia stared at him, trying to focus, but the drug was making her lids heavy. She wanted to speak, but the tape held her mute. All she could
do was look at him and pray someone stopped him before things went too far.

  Her eyes drifted closed. Only for a moment, she told herself. Just enough time to gather her strength and come up with a plan. But there wasn’t any plan that would save her from what he planned to do. Her only hope was that someone would find them.

  She thought of John and a sob rose into her throat. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes and spilling onto her face. She didn’t want to cry, but the thought of never seeing him again was too much to bear. She’d fallen in love with him. She wanted desperately to prove it to him. Now, she’d never get the chance.

  Please come for me, she prayed.

  Vaguely, she was aware of Parker moving around, banging things around on the table. Every nerve in her body snapped taut when she felt his arms slide beneath her. She tried to twist away when he lifted her, but her muscles refused to obey.

  “Don’t fight me,” he whispered as he laid her on the table.

  Julia lifted her head, fought to open her eyes. She caught a glimpse of Parker standing over her. She tried to scoot away, but he set his hand against her stomach and pushed her back. “Don’t move or I’ll hurt you.”

  Her eyes wanted to roll back, but she fought to keep them open. She felt his hands at her left ankle and kicked at him, but missed. He removed her boot and, using a soft gold sash, secured her ankle to the table leg.

  She tried to sit up when he grasped her right ankle, but he lunged and slapped her hard. “I said don’t move!”

  The impact of the blow sent her back down. Closing her eyes tightly, she screamed into the tape as he secured her right ankle.

  Oh, dear God, please don’t let this happen!

  It was as if she were trapped inside her own head. Unable to speak or scream. Unable to move or protect herself. Somehow her eyes had drifted shut. Her mouth was bone dry. Her lids flew open when she felt his hands on her bound wrists. At first she thought he was cutting the ropes, then she realized he was pulling them above her head to secure them to the table.

  A terrible sense of vulnerability crashed over her as he jerked the ropes taut. Screaming into the tape, she struggled against her bindings. Her struggles were not only futile, but also seemed to give him a twisted sense of pleasure. Bound, drugged and gagged, she was totally at his mercy.

  But Parker Bradley did not have any mercy in his heart. She saw fanaticism and hatred in his eyes when he looked down at her. She wondered how someone who called himself a man of God could be so cruel. How someone she thought she’d known for three years could hide such utter and complete insanity.

  “He’s not going to come for you.”

  His whispered voice jerked her out of the hazy world she had sunk into. Even drugged and terrified she knew he was talking about John.

  Never taking his eyes from hers, he undid the sash at his waist. At first Julia thought he was going to expose himself to her. She could handle that as long as he didn’t touch or force himself on her. Then she realized he’d removed the robe to show her what he wore beneath it.

  “It’s a Kevlar vest and is designed to stop a bullet even at close range.” He rapped the vest with his knuckles. “Just in case Merrick gets any ideas about trying to play hero.”

  Lower, she saw the wood grip of a pistol sticking out of the waistband of his jeans. She stared at the butt of the gun, wished desperately there was some way she could get to it. She fought the binds, but the ropes held. She wanted to scream and rage; she wanted to tell him she would do whatever he wanted so long as he didn’t kill John. She knew he would come for her. And she knew with terrible certainty that when he did this man would kill him.

  “I begin the ceremony by bathing you in holy water,” he said.

  He was standing over her. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. The robe he wore was wet with sweat at his chest and back and armpits. His hand shook uncontrollably when he picked up the vial of holy water.

  She jerked against her binds when the water splashed onto her face and neck. Expecting the burn of acid, she closed her eyes and cried into the tape. But the burn didn’t come.

  “Now for the rest of you.”

  She opened her eyes to see him pick up a long-bladed knife. A scream exploded from her lungs, but the duct tape muffled it. Her body bucked against the table when he set the blade against her sweater.

  “The holy water must have contact with your skin.” A flick of his wrist and the first button popped. “I hope you know there is no enjoyment in this for me, Julia. I am doing the work of God. And He has told me you must atone for your sins.”

  No!

  An odd expression of sympathy entered his eyes. He removed the knife and stroked her hair back with his hand. “I’ll make this as comfortable as possible for you, Julia. But I must make certain you are pure when you leave this world.”

  Julia threw her head back and screamed into the duct tape.

  The Mustang’s tires screeched against asphalt as John hauled the car onto Bayou Road. He put the accelerator to the floor and the car flew over potholes the sizes of basket-balls. To the south he could see lightning flickering through the trees. The air was leaden and still with the promise of a storm.

  He had no idea what he would find when he got to the old church. He didn’t even know if that was where Bradley had taken her. But it was his best guess, and at the moment it was all he had.

  Uncertainty taunted him as he sped through the old neighborhood. The area had been on the decline for half a century. Dilapidated warehouses banked by a deep canal ran parallel with the street to his left. To his right, ancient Victorian homes that had once been stately stared at him with hollow, dark eyes. Our Lady of St. Agnes stood among hundred-year-old live oaks at the end of the street, like some fallen saint.

  Cutting the headlights, John idled past. The weeds were knee-high in the gravel lot; he didn’t see a vehicle. There were no lights on inside. The place looked deserted. But John knew that didn’t mean it was.

  He made another pass then parked curbside twenty yards away. As he silently jogged to the front of the building, it crossed his mind that he was going into a potentially dangerous situation unarmed. Stupid thing to do considering Bradley was probably packing a gun. But John was all too aware of his limitations when it came to his service revolver. He was just going to have to make do without it.

  He was midway to the rear when a flicker of light from inside caught his eye. It was coming from a broken stained glass window six feet above the ground. If he stood on the sill ledge, he would be able to see inside.

  Light rain began to fall as he walked to the window. Standing on a rusty five-gallon bucket, he heaved himself onto the narrow sill and put his eye to the hole. The light inside was dim. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when he realized the light was coming from dozens of candles. His heart began to pound when he spotted Bradley standing near the altar. He was too far away to discern what the man was doing. He was wearing some type of robe. But where the hell was Julia?

  His gut twisted when he spotted her lying on the table spread eagle. Duct tape covered her mouth. Shock and outrage and a terrible new fear stormed through him when he realized Bradley was cutting away her clothes.

  John closed his eyes and struggled to get a grip. Shaking himself, he stepped down off the sill, his heart hammering hard against his ribs. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to stop that son of a bitch without a weapon.

  Breathing hard, he stepped into the shadows of the trees, whipped out his cell phone and called Mitch. His brother answered on the first ring.

  “Bradley has her at the old church on Bayou Road. Saint Agnes. I’m here now. He’s going to . . .” But John’s voice broke and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Take it easy, bro.”

  “He’s going to hurt her, Mitch. For God’s sake, he’s got her tied up. I’m going in.”

  “Stay put. I’m in my car. I can be there in five minutes.”

  “She doesn�
��t have five minutes.” John disconnected and jammed the phone onto his belt. Not giving himself time to debate, he sprinted back to his car. Sweat slicked his back and face as he pulled the nylon zip case from beneath the passenger seat. His hands shook uncontrollably as he stared down at the gleaming barrel of the H&K .45. The same gun that killed Franklin Watts. The only tool he had that would save the life of the woman he loved.

  He envisioned himself picking up the gun and chambering a bullet, the way he’d done a thousand times in the years he’d been a cop. But his mind’s eye flashed back to the night Franklin Watts died. He saw gray flesh and staring eyes and a pool of blood the size of an ocean. He saw two children and a woman too young to be a widow. Nausea seesawed in his gut. Cold horror raced through his blood like ice water being pumped into his veins.

  Pick up the gun, you fucking coward, a little voice ordered.

  But his hands refused. His knees hit the ground. He retched and lost the contents of his stomach. Cold sweat covered his body, but he was shivering with a chill that seemed to emanate from his bones.

  “Pick it up, goddamn it,” he choked out.

  He closed his eyes, tried to will away the horror of that night. In the dark recesses of his mind, he saw Julia. He felt the goodness of her soul. The kindness of her heart. The undeniable connection to his. He thought of all the terrible things that would happen to her if he didn’t do this.

  Giving himself a hard mental shake, he got unsteadily to his feet and reached for the gun. The blue steel felt foreign and deadly in his hands. The fear rose like vomit in his throat. Sheer determination allowed him to maintain his grip. He pulled back the slide and chambered a bullet. His hands were wet on the grip as he shoved the gun into the waistband of his jeans.

  His legs felt rubbery as he sprinted toward the church, but he didn’t let himself think about the fear. He knew it would overwhelm him, render him useless. He wasn’t going to let Julia die because of him.

  Midway to the church, the skies opened up. The rain came in a sudden and blinding torrent, soaking him instantly and washing the fear sweat from his face. The gun felt huge and heavy against him. But John didn’t let himself think about it. He didn’t slow down. He didn’t stop.